Post-It: ETD 00:01am

[maced_eggs]

[Spam for the Dining Room, Morning]

[Last night, Mason, Grim Reaper, age 27 and dead for the last forty years, shucked off his muddy, blood-stained clothes and fell asleep on a couch in his Union Jack underwear.

This morning, Mason, still dead, wakes up on the Barge.

Mason's never been much of what anyone might call "consciously aware", or "observant." For example; he fails to observe he is not in his home when he wakes up. He fails to observe that all of his clothes have gone missing.

What he does observe is that he is bloody starving, and needs a very, very large breakfast to erase the nightmare of the day before. So after failing to observe that he is completely pantsless, Mason shuffles out of his room and off to find food.

Which is why, still half asleep and very nearly naked, is a man barging through the breakfast bar gathering up as many miniature cereal boxes in his arms as he possibly can. He doesn't merely stop when they're all gone: systematically, he goes around to every table he nears and plucks them from unsuspecting eaters when he guesses they're not looking.

Arms loaded with cereal, the mysterious, nearly naked man attempts to make a retreat.

He doesn't yet have the capacity to guess where he is at the moment, aside from the completely unhelpful "Not at home." But at least there will always be Fruit Loops.]

Comments

[neverfeltbetter]

[What is this guy delusional? Did he really just try to put a box in his non-existent pant's pocket? And now he's going for Crichton's tray.]

Hey, hands off!

[Crichton clenches his grip on the tray so Mason might have a hard time getting it from him.]

What's your problem? There's plenty for everyone and it isn't like there won't be more tomorrow. Relax!

[maced_eggs]

[Fortunately for Crichton, Mason can only put in a tiny bit of effort before giving up. Once he realizes he can't wrestle away the tray one-handed, he gives up, looking sour]

No, mate, no. There's no guarantee. You don't know where we could be! We could go to sleep one day in our lovely beds an' wake up the next morning on a fuckin' cruise line with no breakfast.

Now gimmie the fuckin' tray. Please.

Pleeeease, my arms are getting tired.

[neverfeltbetter]

You're a little off the mark there buddy. You got the boat part right but...

[Assuming this guy isn't high just out of his mind, he's likely a new arrival. This level of confusion...and blatant disregard for personal property says Inmate to him.]

Lemme ask you something, D'you know where you are right now?

[He does not relinquish the tray. How long can he keep this guy here using it as bait?]

[maced_eggs]

[Honestly it's about fifty-fifty with Mason. He might be a little high right now.]

I do know...that I'm on a boat. In the middle of fuck-all, but I am on a boat. And that I'm very hungry and would you please just gimmie the fuckin' tray?

C'monnn.

[neverfeltbetter]

You're on a prison barge. You're a prisoner.

[Nope, sorry. Try stays with him.]

What's your name?

[maced_eggs]

Mason. I'm Mason.

[He finally lets the tray go, exasperated]

I'm not a fuckin' pris'ner. Think I'd know if I was arrested, yeah?

[neverfeltbetter]

No, Mason, you wouldn't. In fact, I know you're an inmate just because you don't. This isn't a regular prison ship. You don't pass go, you don't collect two hundred dollars, and you don't get a trial. You just show up here. That's how it works.

If you don't believe me, drop your damn cereal and go on deck. You'll see nothing but stars, 'cause this barge ain't floatin' on water.

[maced_eggs]

...Yeah, a'right, lad.

[he leans over, just gently touching Crichton's forehead]

I think...whatever it is you're on, I would like some very much, please. Because that is one good story and I would like to find out where I am but first I would like to have some breakfast.

And your tray. Or anyone's. Just a tray.

[neverfeltbetter]

[Crichton smacks his hand away. He takes offense to being called nuts when he's not being nuts. That's just unfair.]

Did you die or almost die today, before waking up here?

[Guess who doesn't feel like sugar coating it anymore?]

[maced_eggs]

Today?

No, not today. Not even recently.

[he rubs his hand]

That hurt. That really hurt.

[neverfeltbetter]

I barely smacked ya.

[Big baby.]

You've been dead? Are you... [He cants his head] undead, or something like that?

[maced_eggs]

Undead. Yes. As a matter of fact, I am...undead.


And what the fuck are you supposed to be, then?

[neverfeltbetter]

Human. And a warden. Your superior.

[Yep, pulling the authority card.]

[maced_eggs]

My what?

[neverfeltbetter]

You're the inmate. I'm the warden. Who do you think gets to give the orders?

[maced_eggs]

Uhm. Not you, for one.

Rube. Rube gives me orders. An' I don't see a fuckin' nametag on you callin' yourself that.

You're not a reaper.

[neverfeltbetter]

My name is John Crichton. I don't know anyone on here who goes by Rube.

And what do you mean, reaper?

[maced_eggs]

Mine is Mason. I don't answer to any fuckin' "John Crichton."




I don't mean anything by 'reaper'. You're high, man. You don't know what you're saying.

[neverfeltbetter]

Fine, don't answer to me.

[He closes his eyes, counting to five in his head while his hand not supporting the tray flexes at his side.]

Just listen to me. You are not home anymore, and unless you start listening, you aren't going to get home for a long ass time. Does that compute?

[maced_eggs]

[mercifully, Mason shuts up for all of two seconds. He's never been good arguing with people in charge, and he squints a little at Crichton, resentful and sullen]

What if I don't have a home? What if I am homeless?

I'm not saying I am. Or that this is loitering.

But I am. I am homeless and this is the first place I've seen with free food and I would like to stay where the food is, please and thank you.

[neverfeltbetter]

[Crichton wishes he could be more surprised to hear that, but it sort of fits.]

I'm sorry about that, but, we'll see how you feel when things start getting interesting around here. Rumor has it, it won't be long...

[He considers just leaving it at that, but he's feeling a pang of sympathy for the guy. For Christ's sake he doesn't even have any pants.]

Mason, you don't have to leave. You can't now, you're stuck, but one day you're going to graduate, well I hope so, and when that happens you'll be a warden like me. When you're a warden you can go home any time, but it doesn't mean you have to. You can stay here as long as you want to.

[maced_eggs]

Johnny, I've no idea what the fuck you're talking about.

I know what I am and I know what I am not and I don't want to be no fucking warden, yes? Bein' stuck on a boat, there isn't a lot of difference between being that and being stuck in Seattle. At least the boat goes places.

[neverfeltbetter]

I swear to god Mason, can you just listen?!

Look, I don't think you got to worry too much about it; I have a feeling it'll be a while. And, oh yeah, we go places. We go to hell and back sometimes.

Do yourself a favor and get some friends that are good fighters. Things are gonna get ugly again sooner or later, and running isn't always and option on here.

[maced_eggs]

Right.

Right.


How do I do that, again?

Also, why do you assume that I cannot fight? I can be a bloody good fighter. I've got the technique.

[neverfeltbetter]

How do you do what? Make friends? Getting some pants on might be a start.

[In theory anyway.]

You don't look like a fighter. A scrapper maybe...but, unless you've got some super powers hidden somewhere in those underpants, I'm guessing you're outclassed by about half this boat. I'm being generous.